Nocturne
by Liete
Summary: -One-sided US/UK- 'This was business, not pleasure. The signature on the dotted line. A handshake after negotiations. A bit of politics to reaffirm their alliance.'


**Nocturne  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: From the Hetalia kink meme****.**

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America was happy, a warm feeling he'd never really had many opportunities to enjoy in his relatively short life. His heart soared, a smile he'd never be able to wipe away on his face. He finally had everything he wanted, sealed by the consummation of his love for England, who lay panting beneath him. He took a deep breath and stroked the older nation's cheek tenderly, while his eyes softened with affection. He'd loved England for so long, perhaps from the moment they met, but most certainly since he'd learned of the distinction between platonic and romantic love. Now, _finally_, his love had come to fruition.

America bent down and kissed England softly, then flopped down to lay next to him. Before he could pull England into his arms, hold him close forever, the island nation was sitting up and reaching for tissues.

"Right then. That ought to strengthen the Special Relationship for awhile longer yet, don't you think?" England asked placidly, as if discussing the weather. He cleaned up the mess on his stomach, then reached for his underwear.

America froze. His stomach lurched painfully and he could swear something was squeezing his heart. "What?" he asked dumbly.

"Be a good lad and hand me my trousers," England continued as he slipped into his shirt. His back was to America as he buttoned up the shirt, so he didn't notice that America still hadn't moved. Rather, he stayed frozen in place, only his expression was shifting into one of rejection and horror.

"Aren't you going to stay?" America tried a bit desperately, and England finally paused. He lowered his hands and turned around to raise an eyebrow incredulously at America.

"Of course not, I have a flight to catch. The Prime Minister and Her Majesty will be pleased to know of the progress we've made here." He turned around again and slipped on his tie.

It was then that the truth slammed into America, knocking the wind out of him in painful realization. America had confessed his love, England had neither accepted nor rejected him. He'd had England's name on his lips the entire time he'd made love to him, while England had been silent save for a few grunts from exertion or a gasp when he came. It was the reason why England was leaving so casually as if nothing had happened.

This was business, not pleasure. The signature on the dotted line. A handshake after negotiations. A bit of politics to reaffirm their alliance.

"I meant what I said," America asserted and sat up. He couldn't let it go, couldn't let _England_ go.

England snorted and stood up to retrieve the pants that had been cast aside by the door. "That you love me? Don't be foolish, America. You're not my only ally, and I know I'm not yours. You're very attractive, and not a half bad shag, better than that damnable frog for certain, but neither of us can afford to focus on only one alliance."

"France?" America asked weakly, something he wanted so desperately to deny forcing its way into reality. His stomach was dropping somewhere near his feet, whatever it was that was squeezing his heart tightening tenfold.

"He's a ruddy insufferable bastard, but one must sometimes make great sacrifices for the sake of their country," England sighed and checked his appearance in the closet mirror.

So that was really it, what he'd been afraid of was the absolute truth. America could swear he felt his heart breaking in two, and he faintly wondered if New York was suffering from any earthquakes as a result. He couldn't believe it. England didn't feel anything for him. He'd been in love all along and it had been for nothing. Politics. There was no room for love when you were a nation who had to maintain relationships with the rest of the world. He stared at the sheets in front of him in utter dismay, and his breath hitched. The sound prompted England to look up at America's reflection in the mirror. He sighed impatiently and turned around again.

"America. Love. Don't pout. It doesn't become you," England chided, but there was no warmth to his voice, not even the slightest trace of affection. He adjusted his sleeves one last time before he grabbed his jacket and opened the door.

"Should you ever feel our alliance needs another boost, you know how to reach me. Ta, America," England said calmly over his shoulder and closed the door behind him as he left.

America didn't respond. An emptiness had replaced the elation in heart. He stayed frozen in place, staring blankly at nothing, until he finally hugged his knees to his chest and lowered his head. He wouldn't let himself cry, wouldn't let himself be broken, but he didn't move for the rest of the day.


End file.
